When I Wake Up
by BurningDemon
Summary: John has nightmares. His dreams are more vivid than life. Locked in a hospital, on his way to a secure unit, Moriarty on his tail... Molly is the only one he can trust. He needs to find out who the man in his dreams is. Who is the man with the blue scarf?
1. First Dream

_John clambered into bed; the sheets were crisp and cold, but quickly warmed at his touch. They were purple, but a dark purple that looked more like a nice cool brown. John pulled the covers over his head, bringing his knees up to his chin. The cramped space quickly became stifling, but John shut his eyes and let the warmth seep into his skin. He was tired, so tired._

"Mr. Watson? Mr. Watson, are you okay?" A disembodied voice called out, reaching John through the thick layer of dreams that surrounded him. "Mr. Watson, we need to talk to you."  
John opened his eyes. Sudden bright light bit at his sight, but he squinted through it. There was a woman, young and pretty, leaning over him. Her eyes were a beautiful auburn, her many shades of brown hair was in a messy ponytail and she wasn't wearing any make up. She had diamond studs in her ears and a silver chain around her neck. As he looked at her John thought he recognised her; somewhere long ago, a half forgotten dream.  
"Hello Mr. Watson, I'm Nurse Hooper. Do you remember me?"  
Slowly, John remembered. Molly Hooper, the nurse that had been looking after him under the care of the mental health unit. He was in St Bart's, strapped to a bed and sedated. He groggily pieced together the story again, for the fifth time that week.  
"You're Molly Hooper. You're a nurse. I'm John Watson. I was at war. Afghanistan. I was shot. I was sent home. I was." He paused, frowning, "I was. I met."  
"You met someone?" Nurse Hooper asked, raising an eyebrow, "Do you remember anything about them?"  
"N-no... I don't remember anything about them, but I do remember something." John shut his eyes, clenching them tight. "There was a blue scarf, I remember the scarf."  
"A blue scarf?" Nurse Hooper made some notes on John's chart. John could hear the pen scratching on the paper, "Continue, please."  
"I... I came home and met the person with the scarf. Then, then I watched someone die. And I stopped... I didn't... I came here after that."  
"Mr. Watson, you're doing very well." Nurse Hooper smiled; a genuine, warm smile. "I'd like you to talk to me for a while, just until the head of the unit comes in."  
"Y-yeah, sure." John smiled back weakly. "Do you think my hair's getting a bit long?"  
Nurse Hooper walked closer to John's bed and reached out over his head, slowly. "May I?"  
"Yeah, sure," John smiled, wriggling his fingers as he looked the nurse's smile, "I'm all tied up."  
Nurse Hooper smiled, laughing slightly at his weak joke. She ran her fingers through his hair, trailing her fingertips across his scalp.  
"Your hair is fine. It's graying, but fine."  
"It feels too long." John shrugged as best he could.  
"The length suits you. Much better than that military haircut you had when you arrived here." Nurse Hooper laughed, "It didn't look right on you."  
"Yeah, I guess."  
"John," she shuffled slightly, "what did you dream about last night?"  
"I..." John paused, "I can't remember."  
"Okay." Nurse Hooper smiled again, "The Head is here, please behave for him."  
"I'll try." John laughed; no mirth in his voice. He hated the head of the unit. He was a certain Mr. J. Moriarty, who was an asshole at best, and a cruel sadistic man at worst. John remembered the first time he'd met the man.

It was a cold December day, before John had required an almost permanent restraint, and he had been standing on the roof, looking over London. He had been in a striped jumper, one of his favourites, and a pair of worn jeans. He'd just come in for a scan, and was now awaiting the results. Maybe he knew his way around Bart's too well, having trained there, but he'd quickly found his way to one of the best places to think, and, so it seemed, had Mr. Moriarty.  
"Hello," the dark haired, pale man said in a cheery voice, "I don't know you. I guess it's because I'm new."  
"No, it's because I'm a patient." John announced, staring out over the ledge. He was watching the people below. How small they looked. "John Watson."  
"James Moriarty."  
"Interesting, isn't it?" John muttered, "The way that everyone gets so caught up in their own worlds?"  
"Yeah," James smiled, "It's the reason I began studying psychology."  
"A doctor, are you?" John smiled, stuffing his hands in his pockets and breathing out a huff of frozen air.  
"Yeah, I'm new here, old hand at the trade though." James laughed, "I just needed somewhere to spread my wings." He threw his arms out, took a deep breath and smiled at John, "Otherwise we're just… staying alive. And that's no fun, right John?"

John looked up; the man in front of him was dressed in a grey suit, pinstriped, with slicked back hair. He was carrying a clipboard with John's details on it.  
"I still don't understand why I'm restrained, doc."

"You've been misbehaving." Moriarty smiled. His smile sent shivers through John's body, it was a reptilian, cold, calculating smile; one that invited no warmth or friendship. "We're very sorry that you have to be so… restricted."  
"Liar." John spat, "I didn't do anything."  
"Tsk. Yes, John, you did." Dr. Moriarty frowned, "You tried to attack one of my co-workers. You were heavily sedated, which explains why you didn't remember it, but you did."

John shut his eyes, trying to remember, but he couldn't. There was nothing that stuck out in his mind. "I don't remember it."  
"I'm sorry, John," Moriarty sighed, "We have to transfer you in the next week to a secure unit."  
"Secure?" John snapped, his eyes suddenly opening. He glared at Moriarty. "What does Harry say about this?"  
"Harry signed the papers." Moriarty nodded, looking down at his clipboards. "We just need to get a space open and you'll be moved on. And then you'll be under 24 hour surveillance and we'll all be happy."  
"You can't do that!" John shouted, his voice cracking, "You can't do that to me! You can't do that, you bastard!" He thrashed, straining against his bonds. "You bastard, you utter bastard, James Moriarty! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"  
"Sedation." Moriarty called out, "Someone sedate him."  
Nurses and orderlies rushed around, pushing buttons, moving trolleys and trying to keep John pinned to the bed. It was useless for him to struggle against them, but he felt the need to fight for something, anything. He fought until the drugs had consumed his consciousness. As he lay, sinking into the inky blackness of his dreams, he heard a single voice.  
"Goodnight, John. Wake up soon." It was Dr. Moriarty.

_John's eyes snapped open. He was in his room in 221B Baker Street, he was in his bed and he was overly hot. His sheets were tangled around his legs, making him feel trapped. He ripped them off and struggled upright. Recently his dreams had been getting worse, so much worse... but he could never remember them. He could only remember feeling trapped, feeling encaged in something. A feeling he hated, a feeling he couldn't control. John Watson spent the rest of the night brooding, waiting for Sherlock to come and shout at him to wake up because they had a beautiful, wonderful, complex case to solve. Sherlock waited for the right case that piqued his interest to arrive. _


	2. Second Dream

_John sat down heavily. The cushioning on the armchair was comfortably moulded to John's shape, he wriggled into the seat. He could feel himself falling asleep even now, he was so tired. He couldn't keep his eyes open much longer.  
Sherlock had them running around London looking for a stranger and painting that they didn't even care about. John was sure that Sherlock just did it to wind up Anderson and Donovan, maybe even Lestrade too. They'd finally found the painting and, tomorrow morning, would attend the official unveiling.  
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. John didn't want to sleep, not at all. It had been days since he last slept, the fatigue was unbearable. He wanted to stay awake, stay away from the nightmares, but he couldn't resist. The pull of his bed was too strong; the comfortable mattress and the sheets that kept him warm, but not overly hot. He gave in and trailed to his bed, kicking off his shoes in the doorway of his room. He pulled his trousers off and crawled into bed, not bothering to remove his jumper. _

"Mr. Watson?" Nurse Hooper asked, tapping the metal of his bed gently. His eyes snapped open; John registered her face and then shut his eyes again. "Are you okay, Mr. Watson?"  
"Call me John. You've known me long enough." He sighed, leaving his eyes shut, "I don't like the sound of Mr. Watson."  
"Oh, sorry," She muttered, looking down at the chart again, "I didn't mean to upset you."  
"Just like her." He smiled; a soft, warm, dedicated dreamer's smile that no one had seen in a long time, crossed John's face. "Just like her. The girl down in the morgue, the one that was waiting for him to come and rescue her... Molly, you're just like her."  
"J-John?" Nurse Hooper asked, completely taken aback by his tone. "What are you talking about?"  
"You're just like her, Molly... Just like the girl from my dreams."  
"Your dreams?" Nurse Hooper took a step back, shock and disgust filled her eyes.  
"My dreams... I know I dream of a girl like you, a man with a blue scarf, and myself." John smiled, "There's a few others. Donovan and Anderson... Hudson and... That damn Moriarty."  
Nurse Hooper drew closer to the man, his sleep had been sporadic at best for weeks, but now he was sleeping properly, full nights. And it seemed he could remember more. Ever since Moriarty had condemned him to moving to a different place, he'd become... different somehow. Less angry, less violent; he no longer needed restraining. "What else?"  
"What else... what else do I dream of?" John asked, his eyes looking so sad that Nurse Hooper felt like pulling him into a close hug there and then. "What else is in my dreams?"  
"Yes, tell me what else you dream of." Nurse Hooper sat down, pulling a chair close to John's bed. "I want to know everything."  
"I dream of London, of being out there... Out there, in London." John smiled. "The man with the scarf, he's so... It's just annoying."  
"How is it annoying?"  
"His name, I can't remember it. He's not someone I know... here in real life. He's not someone, like you." "What can you remember about him?" Nurse Hooper asked, looking at the man in bed. His face was pale and his eyes were dark. He looked tortured, like there was something he couldn't remember, something wrong that he needed to fix.  
"I need to help him... There's something wrong with him. Someone's going to hurt him." John muttered, looking at his clenched fists. "Molly... It's Moriarty. Moriarty is going to kill him."  
"What?" Nurse Hooper frowned, "Moriarty? Jim Moriarty?"  
John nodded, his eyes getting darker and more pained as he thought about it. "Moriarty is going to kill the man with the blue scarf."  
"How do you know that?" Nurse Hooper leaned forwards. This was against all protocol, listening to a patient who was talking about a doctor, in his dreams. "Do you see him? Sometimes, in these dreams, do you see him?"  
"I see him," John sighed, clenching his jaw, "He hurt me. And the blue scarf man... He hurt you too. I need to protect him, the one with the scarf."

_John tossed in his sleep, Sherlock's name on his lips. He clenched his fists and wound the sheets around his fingers, gritting his teeth. His eyes flickered under their lids. He whined in the back of his throat. This was the sound of an animal in pain, not a human. No human would be this terrified by a nightmare.  
"Moriarty is coming." _


End file.
